


Rosaline

by Scarletlocks



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Oliver/Elio Perlman - Freeform, elio perlman/oliver - Freeform, female elio perlman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29322096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletlocks/pseuds/Scarletlocks
Summary: in an alternate universe Elio Perlman is a woman named Elizabetta who became pregnant during that fated summer in 1987. This is a short story about her and Oliver's daughter Rosaline as she sets out to meet her father in secret 18 years later.
Relationships: Elio Perlman/Oliver, Oliver/Elio Perlman, female elio perlman/oliver
Kudos: 5





	Rosaline

**Author's Note:**

> hi all. I finished reading the first book Call Me By Your Name and the scene in which Elio visits Oliver at his university stuck with me and a thought occurred. What if Elio was a female and had gotten pregnant without Oliver knowing and their child visited him instead? The thought wouldn't leave me alone and so here we are :) feedback is welcome and I may build on this as I have a lot of ideas of how the story may have differed during the summer if Elio was female

This whole thing was, in her head anyway, meant to go so much differently than it had turned out.

On the 3rd of April 2005, when Rosa Perlman had snuck away earlier that morning from the watchful eye of her mother Elizabetta she had had one goal as she’d navigated the packed and stuffy subway to Columbia University.

Find her father.

She’d slipped from the hotel that she and her mother were staying in for the week after Elizabetta left to practice for some shows she had been booked to perform at Carnegie Hall. Her mother had double checked that Rosa didn’t want to come with her to watch and after feigning jet lag from their flight the previous day from Italy her mother had merely smiled fondly at her and lay a kiss to her temple.

“Mon Cher” she’d said softly, her words making her chest tight with the guilt of what she was about to do and for a moment she considered back peddling from her carefully laid plans, however, after her mother left her alone with one last smile over her shoulder as she’d closed the door Rosa determined that it was now or never. She would be attending university in London in a few months’ time so who knew when she’d be alone in New York with the chance to search him out again, she’d done all the required research to ensure that her father would in fact be at the university by checking the staff directory and hoped that he would not be out of office today of all days. And so, with guilt weighing heavily in her heart, she slipped on her beaten converse and grabbed her mother’s vintage backpack before heading down to the lobby.

Although she had never met the man who was her father, her mother had told her everything she could about him and how she had come to creation over the summer of 1987. Indeed for never having seen him with her own eyes she knew quite a lot about Oliver Lachman; he loved to jog every morning and to swim. He smacked his lips after finishing a glass of Malfada’s fresh apricot juice. He was good at poker. He wore a gold Star of David around his neck. He was highly intelligent, so much so that he was currently a professor at Columbia University. However one of the biggest facts about Oliver was one that he did not even know himself. In 1987, as he lay next to her 18 year old mother on her bed in Northern Italy one snowy December day, he had told her he was getting married to someone else whilst unbeknownst to him Rosa lay nestled in her mother’s womb, hidden beneath the layers of a taffeta dress and a chunky knit cardigan. During her near 18 years of life she had questioned her mother and her grandparents as to why she had never met her real father and after many years of being told that it was complicated she had finally been told a sad truth at the age of fifteen.

“He didn’t want me and, although I am sure he would’ve wanted you, it didn’t feel right to interfere with his marriage or his career. I was young and the world would have been unkind to him as he was several years older than I was. He did visit once while I was pregnant but before I could tell him he told me that he was getting married, he made it clear that what we had was not serious after all and I didn’t want to risk being married to someone out of obligation when I wasn’t wanted” her mother had said sadly as they sat one day at her piano at the villa.

“He didn’t want you?” She’d asked incredulously, tears forming in her young eyes. Eyes that she was told were the spitting image of her father’s.

“He never said that, however… Well, he did marry her after all” her mother had told her, her eyes dry but glazed with a sadness Rosa realised she was too young to comprehend.

“After all that?” She’d asked, referring to the six weeks he’d stayed with her family and during which he’d stolen her heart. No… not stolen. It was as if they’d opened their ribcages in unison and after removing their hearts placed them in the others chest. They had been one entity at times and indistinguishable from one another as they’d referred to the other as their own name. Rosa had never been told the deeper details of those six weeks however she had been painted a picture of an all-consuming love that on the surface sounded so genuine and almost other worldly. She’d had a picture of her father over the years she had been told about him, her grandparents remembering him fondly and even having him to visit when it was assured that she and her mother would be inconspicuously out of town. It had been a fond picture of him that her mind had painted of colourful swimming trunks, blonde sun bleached hair and a man so kind he’d taken time to befriend a child sick with terminal cancer. However, upon hearing that after everything he and her mother had experienced together he had married another woman anyway… her image of him curdled somewhat. Over the last three years no matter how much her family assured her that it was not as black and white as all that she could not be swayed from her resentment. It was her feelings towards the unknown entity that was her father that propelled her to go behind her mother’s back and navigate the subway in the hopes of meeting him and asking him why he did what he did. Well, that wasn’t the whole truth. A few months previously her grandpa had had a serious health scare and they’d very nearly lost him, the only father she’d ever known had nearly been lost and her heart was bitterer than ever at the man that should’ve raised her in his stead.

Exiting the subway she realised that she was close to the campus when she noted the various amount of young adults who were blatantly students if their backpacks and the piles of books clasped in their hands were anything to go by. Following a throng of attendees she soon found herself at the University where by that time she felt her heart pound so hard she swore that it would escape the confines of her chest but somehow managed to calm herself enough to ask a passing student in a green summer dress where Professor Lachman’s office was located. The girl had assumed that she was a fellow student and had informed her where to go in a strong Boston accent, “However, you’ll be waiting a while. He’s giving a lecture on Socrates in the big lecture hall in half an hour” Rosa thanked the girl who after seeing her eyes dart for a sign to tell her where to go took pity on her and sent her in the right direction. She figured she was approaching her destination when her keen eyes clocked a throng of students pass by clutching books dedicated to Ancient Greece and so followed them close by until they arrived at the “Big” Lecture hall which, true to its nickname, was in fact big. She was thankful of this fact as it meant that she would able to slip into the back row, as far away as possible from him as he gave his lecture so that he wouldn’t notice her.

Soon enough the lecture hall filled with students who in turn filled the room with noise as they found their seats and spoke and laughed together without a care in the world while Rosa meanwhile attempted to stop her hands from shaking in her lap. After nearly twenty minutes of agonised waiting and the arrival of students petered off the door opened to reveal their lecturer, Oliver. Her father. Her breath caught in her throat as he entered and the first thing that struck her was how tall he was, indeed he must’ve been six foot two at least with a well-built physique to match, “He must still run and swim” a voice in her head told her as he greeted the class who greeted him back. She watched transfixed as he turned down the lights and set up a projector to begin his lecture, as he delivered every syllable her eyes watched his every move in an attempt to find the similarities they shared. As he turned to show his side profile she noted that they shared the same angle in the bridge of their nose, the same frown crease in their forehead and yes indeed the exact same shade of eye colour. As the time ticked away in his lecture she found herself shaken in her goal to confront him over the treatment of her mother all those years ago and in the end she found that she could not do it. She had thought that she would wait until the end and stride up to him where he would either magically recognise her as his own with a wide eyed expression and a slack jaw or she’d have to spell it out to him. Perhaps he’d paste a look of suspicion on his face as she made her way to him, his hands shuffling and organising his papers audibly.

 _“Who are you? You’re not one of my students?”_ he’d ask, with the exact same frown lines as hers between his eyes.

 _“No, I’m Rosa Perlman. Your daughter.”_ She’d say triumphantly as his face would fall and go pale before her eyes while the papers in his hands would cascade to the floor in shock. Perhaps he’d want to know her but she would not want to know him and, after denouncing him for his actions on that December day in 1987, she would turn on her heel and never let him set eyes upon her again. Or, perhaps she would raise her hand as if to ask a question or even bypass that courtesy and stand in her seat abruptly before condemning him and proclaiming herself his bastard in front of his shocked students before striding from the room in triumph not unlike a scene from a film in which the leading lady finally tells an abusive partner to go to hell, much to the audience’s glee.

But no.

All her best laid plans had fallen by the wayside as she watched him talk and interact with his students who seemed to love his approach as he spoke of the Socratic Paradox, “I know that I know nothing” is what Plato had given in his account of Socrates and after remaining silently seated in that lecture hall for the better part of an hour and a half Rosa had to say that she agreed with him. She had no idea what her actions were next. Nearly eighteen years of wondering who her father was and three years of asking why he had done what he did and here she was with him in the same room as her, almost close enough to touch, with no idea of what to do about it. As her father finally wound down the lesson and flicked the lights back on to inform his pupils of which chapters to read by when she realised that now was her chance to act as she saw fit. It was now or never. Would she approach him and call him out for his actions all those years ago or would she try another tact? Would she instead drag her feet towards him in her well-travelled converse and strike up a conversation about Plato or Socrates, perhaps even the Oracle of Delphi? They’d talk as though she were a student, he’d offer his thoughts and she’d return hers then she’d thank him for his time and leave for the subway. No. Instead she chose a third option as the students around her leisurely gathered their books and supplies. She stood, threw her mother’s backpack upon her shoulders and exited the room as quickly as if her skirt was on fire.

Nearly an hour later she found herself under a shady tree not far from the stone steps that led up to the college library, her backpack lay next to her as she sat upon the grass which tickled her bare calves. Her phone lay in her open palms, a string of unread texts from her mother asking where she was as she had arrived back at their hotel room with lunch only to find her daughter missing with no note. As her phone vibrated again with an unanswered call her breath hitched in a sob and her hand went to wipe the tears from her eyes, her misery plain on her face but the few passers by either didn’t notice or didn’t care which she didn’t mind either way. She wanted to be alone in her misery. She had planned and schemed behind her mother’s back to avenge her but instead had bottled it at the last moment with nothing to show for it than more heart ache than she had started. As she stared at her phone with her eyes bleary with tears she wondered what she would say to her mother who would be disappointed and most likely furious with her interference in their lives. Suddenly the repercussions of her actions came to her in full force and she realised the difficult position she would’ve put her mother in had she actually informed her father of her existence and she felt sick as guilt weighed heavier than ever in her gut. What now?

 _“I’ll pull myself together. Head back to the hotel and tell her I went for a walk around Central Park but my phone must have not sent the text telling her where I went? Yeah that’ll work…”_ she thought slowly, she’d never have to hurt her mother with the truth and she would never try something like this again. Perfect. Or it would have been if not for what happened next.

“Are you alright?” Came an all too familiar voice as Rosa had ducked her head to wipe her eyes, her father’s voice making her orbs widen in recognition of who was standing before her on the grass.

 _“Oh god”_ she thought weakly as she felt the blood fall from her face. She glanced up, blinking away tears as she did so, and saw her father indeed was standing nearly two metres away with a concerned look upon his face.

“Pardon?” she croaked, unsure what else to say.

“Are you ok?” he asked, his frown turning more empathetic as he took slow steps towards her until he stood just under a metre away, “Are you ill?”

“Erm…” she floundered, really not sure how to progress. Her stomach twisted in worry at the thought of him recognising her from the image he had of her mother at her age. People always said that they looked similar with their dark wavy hair, similar physiques and mannerisms. Oliver Lachman didn’t seem to make the connection just yet, maybe it was the red puffiness of her eyes and her snotty nose or perhaps he was too concerned for her to notice, “No, I’m not sick…” she said simply, slightly disappointed that he hadn’t had that eureka moment and realised that she was his.

“Do you need to call someone? I can take you to a phone” he offered her a pack of tissues and at his kindness she let out a choked huff of laughter.

“No no, that’s ok” she shook her head but accepted the tissues all the same.

“Do you need a sweet coffee?” he asked kindly.

 _“There’s no way I’m drinking American coffee”_ she gagged inwardly, American coffee would never be as good as Italian. No that wasn’t it. No coffee would be as good as Malfalda’s.

“No thank you” she assured him then paused to retrieve a tissue from the packet before dabbing at her eyes, her tears were thankfully ebbing away slowly. A thought occurred, she may have aborted her mission and was no longer out for his blood but that didn’t mean she couldn’t talk to him, “Well… A water maybe?” she shrugged up at him.

“Alright then” he smiled kindly and glanced about him, “there’s a concession stand somewhere… Will you be ok to walk?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Err, sure” she said as she slowly came to stand, grabbing her mother’s back pack and throwing it onto her shoulders as she did so. She hadn’t anticipated this, she didn’t think she’d be walking with him and the way his eyes darted to her bag in slight recognition made her heart jump at the realisation that he may have seen her mother use it that summer in the 80s. He never mentioned it however as she followed him across the pavement and to a concession stand as promised where he requested two waters. As she reached for her bag to retrieve her purse however he stopped her.

“Don’t worry about that” he waved off and she didn’t argue but placed her purse back into the backpack and rubbed her bare arm slowly. The spring weather was getting warmer and so she’d decided on a red skater dress and a cardigan to wear on her mission but now she felt slightly self-conscious in her want to make a good impression on him. Her father took his change and thanked the woman at the stand with a smile before handing her a bottle of cold water.

“Yours” he said simply.

“Thanks” she said softly, taking the water from him which made their fingers brush together slightly.

“Walk a bit, the air will do you some good” he said and gestured the direction they were to travel in, she nodded softly and took his lead unsure if she could bring herself to decline. She took a few sips of water and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her arms, eventually finding her voice.

“Thanks again… I’m not keeping you am I?” she frowned softly.

“Nah” he shrugged, “I was on my way to grab a coffee anyway, you’re not keeping me from anything” he assured her.

“I see” she said simply, nodding her head and making her loose curls flutter.

“So what happened? Anything you need to report?” he asked, the professor in him taking over.

“Not really” she said, slowly coming to a stop with him following suit. She didn’t know how much to say but as she glanced around the campus she couldn’t see the harm in giving a kernel of truth, so with a shrug she threw him a bone, “I’ve done something that will upset my mother” she admitted quietly.

“I see…” he nodded slowly.

“Yeah.” She shrugged, unable to look at him.

“Well” he said eventually as they began to walk again, “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t fix?”

“Maybe…” she answered none committedly, her tone making him frown, “I did something that I had to for own peace of mind but… It will hurt her deeply to know” he hummed at her words.

“Well… I find that most parents just want their children to be happy” he offered to which she agreed with a squeeze of her heart at the thought that he would want her to be above all happy.

“That’s true” she agreed for her own father had said it, “Do you have kids? Professor...?”

“Lachman” he offered, “and no, I don’t” he said simply.

 _“Yes you do”_ she wanted to yell from the roof tops.

“But it’s something I’ve learnt over time” he shrugged and then looked at her, the cogs in his head turning, “Do I know you? Are you in any of my classes?” he asked, squinting slightly in assessment, “You look familiar” he added.

 _“Because my eyes are your eyes. My nose is your nose. Everything else is my mother’s”_ she thought gently.

“No” she shrugged, “I’m studying classics next year, I was visiting a friend today” she continued, just to keep him off the scent. That was what she had applied to study in London anyway and her heart squeezed with emotion at being able to tell him at least something about herself.

“Oh” he said, his interest piqued, “Beowulf? The Iliad?”

“Something like that” she beamed at him, his eyes went to her mouth and a shadow passed his face momentarily. She knew why. She had her mother’s grin. He looked away for a moment and coughed once before looking back. 

“Feeling better?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in empathy.

“…Yeah, I think so” she said truthfully with a nod before taking a sip of water from her bottle, “You helped” she conceded.

“Good” he nodded, “Glad I could help” they continued their short walk touching on the topic of Greek myths, she told him her favourites; Arachne and the tale of Persephone and Hades while he told her of the symbolism of the pomegranate in Ancient Greece with her hanging on his every word until finally they reached the edge of the campus.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you in one of my lectures Miss…” he realised then that he did not know her name.

“Rosaline” she offered freely.

“Rosaline” he nodded with a smile offering his hand for her to shake.

“Professor” she beamed back, taking his hand and shaking it, “Thank you again”

“Don’t worry about it” he said simply with a final smile before they parted ways, “Later” he nodded and made his way down the street to finally get himself a coffee.

“Later” she replied in a trance as she watched her father put more distance between them. She felt her phone vibrate again in her pocket and felt strong enough in herself to answer her mother this time and tell her the truth, “Mama” she said softly as her mother’s worried voice met her ears, “I’m sorry, yes I’m fine. Heading back now” she assured her as she made her way towards the subway.


End file.
